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POEMS 



DUANE RIFENBARK 




RICHARD G. BADGER 

THE GORHAM PRESS 
BOSTON 



Copyright, 1913, by Duane Rifenbark 



All Rights Reserved 



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ThkQorham Press, Boston, U. S. A. 



DEC 26 1913 



©CI.A358868 



PREFACE 

"A word fitly spoken Is like apples of gold in 
pictures of silver." Whether the words composing 
these poems have the setting that will give the 
charm of golden apples in silver baskets of filigree 
work, the author must leave the reader to deter- 
mine. 

To give a cheer to my fellow travelers on life's 
highway, and to brighten life a little bit is my 
desire. 

DUANE RiFENBARK. 

Big Stone City, South Dakota, 

October i, 1913. 



CONTENTS 

Page 

The Mission of a Thought 9 

A New Year's Greeting 9 

The Te He in The Ha Ha's Nest lo 

Making a Living ^ ^ 

Good Company ^ ^ 

Triumphant Dying ^ ^ 

The Greatest Thing 1 1 

Morning Glories I2 

Worry ^3 

Dogs that Bark at Night I4 

Aged Parents a Burden I5 

Hail to the King I7 

The King's Highway i8 

The Shepherd and His Flock I9 

Types of Life 2 1 

The Naughty Bee 22 

Wayside Cheer 23 

Were I a Millionaire 24 

A Tribute to John T. Gold 25 

A Dream of Home 26 

The Lost Titanic 27 

The Old Man's Address to Time 28 

William Booth 29 

The Old Red Mill 3i 

A Pilgrimage 32 



CONTENTS 

Page. 

Rest and Home 33 

The Complaining Wind 34 

The Plaint of an Old Hat 35 

Cruel King Winter 37 

The Book Divine 39 

The Titanic Tragedy 40 

Maple-Sugar Time 41 

The Glory of Age 42 

A Conversation Queer 44 

A Wasted Life 46 

What Shall it Be? 48 

Fall on the Farm 50 

The Toiling Hand 52 

The Nineteenth Psalm Paraphrased 54 

The Children 59 

The Opulent Hours 60 

The Derelict 62 



POEMS 



THE MISSION OF A THOUGHT 

If you've a thought that is worth while, 

Just send it on its way: 
If it should make another smile, 
And help him on another mile 

Along life's rugged way, 
Be glad you've lived another day. 

If you've a thought that is worth while. 

Give it the speed of wings: 
It shall a weary heart beguile, 
And help a soul to mount the stile 

That leads into the field where sings 
The lark, you sweetest comfort brings. 



A NEW YEAR'S GREETING 

Passing out of the Old and into the Ne>v, 
Crossing the threshold with eager feet, — 

Into sweet fields lying afar 

We courageously pass, the future to meet. 

We sorrow to say, "Old Year, good-bye," 
We joy to welcome the Year new-born ; 

Should the New repeat the wealth of the Old, 
The eve of the year shall outrival the morn. 

Dear friends, may you find as the year passes on, 
Your riches of heart far better than gold ; 

May the joy of the Lord, the power of His might. 
Keep your heart ever young as the year groweth 
old. 



THE TE HE IN THE HA HA'S NEST 

Te, he, he! 
This is me. 
Oh, just see 
I'm full of glee! 
I've come to see 
If you'll let me 
Just stay to tea, 
Te, he, he! 

Ha, ha, ha! 
Oh what a jaw! 
And such a maw 
I never saw! 
A dreadful flaw 
Without a law. 
No room for twa. 
My guest? guess na! 
Ha, ha, ha! 



lo 



MAKING A LIVING 

Very many people think that the matter of mak- 
ing a living is the all important one. How much 
better it would be, if they would earnestly strive 
to make a life rather than a living. 

In the making of a life the living is assured. 
The man that builds a life is God's man, and can- 
not fail. 



GOOD COMPANY 

No man can get away from himself — from his 
own companionship. If he would be constantly in 
good company, he must be pure in heart — a good 
man. 

TRIUMPHANT DYING 

The departure of the dying saint is not like the 
sinking of the star of evening into the night, but 
rather like the morning star lost to our gaze in the 
glory of "jocund day." 



THE GREATEST THING 

God's greatest work in the world is that of re- 
creating man. 

To be a man after the image of Jesus Christ, is 
to be the greatest thing in the world. 

The greatest privilege is that of being like God 
through repentance and faith. 

II 



MORNING GLORIES 

Beyond the tree tops, I see the blue 

Of heaven's grand arcade; 
The morning sunlight filters through 

The ever shifting shade. 

The sun-kist clouds go sailing by, 

Like ships upon the sea; 
These bright flotillas of the sky, 

Bring messages to me. 

The towering trees, the growing grain, 

The verdure of the hills, 
The far-flung, undulating plain, 

The heart with rapture thrills. 

The placid waters of the lake. 

Now lave the sylvan shore; 
Within these bowers the weary take 

Sweet rest and God adore. 

The sunlight casts a golden sheen 

Upon the waters clear; 
Beyond, the hills in living green, 

Give added charm and cheer. 

The happy birds on tireless wing, 

Go flitting here and there; 
They swiftly fly and sweetly sing, 

Intoning all the air. 

As I behold the scene so fair. 

My soul exulting cries, 
"How good the Father is to share 

With me this heavenly guise." 
12 



WORRY 

Worry doesn't help, — 

Worry kills 
Men and women too. 

It always fills 
The earnest soul with gloom, 
Forever making room 

For many ills 
That flesh is subject to. 

Worry doesn't help, — 

Worry clips 
The wings of faith and hope, 

Causing slips 
Upon life's rugged way 
That leads to brighter day. 

It ever strips 
Of power to climb life's slope. 

Worry doesn't help, — 

Worry robs 
The unsuspecting soul. 

And fills with sobs 
The restless, yearning heart 
That takes an earnest part 

And ever throbs 
To win the cherished goal. 



13 



Worry doesn't help, — 

So put away 
All this needless pain, 

And make the day 
Of life a blessed round 
Of doing, and the ground 

In every way 
Of making life a gain. 



DOGS THAT BARK AT NIGHT 

You've heard the dog that barks at night, 
That barks when he his shadow^ sees. 

'Tis said that "barking dogs don't bite," 
Unless, perchance, they bite their fleas. 

But whether wrong or whether right, 
Most certainly a nuisance he, 

A-keeping folks awake at night. 
Because he cannot clearly see. 

Much like the dog some people are, 
With their imagination strong, — 

They think they see, and then declare 
They hear you're going very wrong. 

You'd better be disturbed at night, 
By barking dogs that dimly see, 

Than to be a subject of the blight 

From those who talk so glib and free. 



H 



AGED PARENTS A BURDEN 

By some children their aged parents are con- 
sidered a burden of which they would gladly rid 
themselves. These persons often treat their par- 
ents very unkindly, apparently forgetting the debt 
of gratitude which they owe their father and 
mother. Ah! now ungrateful is the human heart. 
How apt it is to become cold and hardened toward 
those whom it once loved with the tenderest, holi- 
est affection ! O heartless children ! Was it not 
your mother who watched over you in the hours 
of infancy? Was it not she who spent so many 
sleepless nights by your side as you lay in your 
little bed, suffering from disease which she feared 
might take the loved one from her sight, and when 
the danger was past thanked God for His great 
kindness in sparing her darling? She has prayed 
for you through all the years, and still prays for 
you. It was she who taught you to lisp your sim- 
ple prayer as you knelt at her knee. Oh, how you 
loved her then! Every childish care and sorrow 
was poured into her listening ear, and you ever 
found in her a sympathizing friend and counsellor. 

And 5^our father? Do you not remember when 
you used to stand at the window and watch him com- 
ing from the field where he had labored all day 
long that you might not want? And when the 
evening meal was over, that he took you on his knee 
and told you the stories that you loved so well, and 
called you his precious child? And when you be- 
came of proper age sent you to school that you 
might obtain the education necessary to fit you 
for a successful career in life? It cannot be that 

15 



you have forgotten all this. Stop and think what 
you do when you speak of your father and mother 
as burdens. Consider that the vigor of life is gone, 
that they have become weak and dependent, and 
that their poor old hearts need cheering by kind 
words and pleasant smiles. The shadows of their 
lives are lengthening — their sun is about to set. Be 
careful that you cause no cloud to obscure the glory 
of that sunset. 

Your father's growing old, 

His sight is very dim: 
He leans on his faithful staff. 

For he's weak in every limb. 
His years are well-nigh told, 

His earthly hopes are fled; 
He soon will slumber cold 

Among the silent dead. 

Your mother's old and weak. 

Her locks are thin and gray ; 
Her aged form is bent. 

She soon will pass away. 
The one who loves you ever. 

You soon shall see no more. 
Until you cross the river, 

And stand on the other shore. 

Be kind to the old folks then. 

They've done enough for you ; 
They've braved the storms oi life. 

With spirits strong and true. 
And now, when age has come, 

And earthly hopes are fled. 
Oh, share with them your home, 

And cheer their dying bed. 
i6 



HAIL TO THE KING 

Hail, hafl, hail! 
O Christ, our glorious King! 

Best friend of man. 
We sing as angels cannot sing, 

Redemption's plan, 
And give thee praise! 

Hail, hail, hail ! 
Our King and Elder Brother, 

Allwise and true. 
Thy great commandment, "Love one another, 

As I have loved you," 
Calls forth our praise. 

Hail, hail, hail! 
Most gracious Prince of Peace. 

The pure and meek. 
Whose songs of praise shall never cease. 

Of mercy speak, 

That all may praise. 

Hail, hail, hail! 
O thou whose name is Love. 

Oh, speed the day 
When love on earth, as in heaven above, 

Shall hold full sway, 
And all men praise. 



17 



THE KING'S HIGHWAY 

There is joy, abundant joy 

In the King's Highway, 
And its pleasures never cloy 

Earnest souls that seek the day 
Ascending. 

There is peace, sweetest peace, 

In the King's Highway, 
And wayfarers never cease 

In their zeal to meet the day 
Unending. 

Springs of living water flow. 

In the King's Highway, 
To refresh all those who go 

To the realms of cloudless day 
Supernal. 

There is life abounding life, 
In the King's Highway, — 

Strength to win the fiercest strife 
For the pilgrims of the day 
Eternal. 

There's a final welcome home 
From the King's Highway, 

Awaiting those who gladly come 
To the realms of golden day 
In heaven. 



i8 



THE SHEPHERD AND HIS FLOCK 
Based on the 23D Psalm 

At the spring of day the flock went forth, 

By the tender Shepherd led, 
Into pastures green where grasses sweet 

Gave joy to them that fed, — 
Contentment over all the scene! 

There peace and plenty made 
The full fed sheep "in pastures green," 

To rest beneath the shade. 

At the noontide hour the thirsty flock, 

At the wayside well await 
A draft of water cold and sweet. 

Their burning thirst to slake. 
With sinewy arms the Shepherd kind 

Draws forth the water pure; 
The weary sheep refreshment find 

And feel themselves secure. 

The sleepless eye ever keeps a watch 

Of the one that goes astray. 
While loving hands, with tend'rest care. 

Guide back to the narrow way. 
To be restored ! What blessedness 

To be set right again. 
To walk in paths of righteousness 

And trust Him not in vain. 



19 



Entering Into the valley of shadows, 

In the gloom of the darkening night, 
They have no dread or fear of evil. 

For the Shepherd is then their light. 
So gladly on they go not knowing 

The dangers of the way; 
His gracious care on them bestowing 

His rod and staff their stay. 

He prepares their table in the presence of enemies 

Fierce and destructive of kind. 
And leads them forth to the rarest of feasts, 

And gives them great comfort of mind. 
To them His presence is greater by far 

Than the fiercest of enemies bold. 
At His bounteous table refreshed they are 

And rejoice in the feast on the wold. 

With the oil of gladness anointing the head, 

And speaking the word of cheer, — 
In spite of their bruises He makes them glad, 

And takes away all their fear. 
So ent'ring the fold, sweetest comfort they find. 

And rejoice in the evening calm. 
They are happy in Him, the Shepherd so kind. 

Made whole by His healing balm. 



Note: — The reader's attention is called to the 
time-element brought out in the poem, — Morning, 
Noon and Night of the day, or of life. 



20 



TYPES OF LIFE 

I've seen the rocky knoll, 

Adorned with sweet spring flowers, 
'Mid growing grasses green — 

The earth made soft with showers. 

I've seen the sedgy swale, 

Where weeds and rushes grow 

In stagnant waters foul. 

From whence no streams ere flow. 

I've seen the crystal stream 

Flow down from 'mong the hills, 

And vanish out of sight 
In muck that grossly swills. 

Three types of life behold, — 
The rought and unattractive 

Made charming with the flowers 
Of grace, that beauty give. 

Behold the swale life, where 
No flowers are seen to grow. 

Where nothing sweet or pure 
Is found, and aims are low. 

And then behold the life 

Whose springs were sweet and pure. 
At last engulfed in sin 

And shame, through satan's lure. 



21 



THE NAUGHTY BEE 

Said the bee unto the fly, 

With a haughty toss of head, 
"All men wish that you would die. 

Because you don't make any bread, 
But from door to door you go, 

Just like any other bum. 
Begging bread from So-and-So, 

And almost always getting some." 

Said the fly unto the bee, 

"You needn't toss your head or wing. 
Nor despise the likes of me, 

For you've got a nasty sting; 
And all the people fear and dread, 

Whenever you begin to sing: 
And they know you steal your bread 

From ev'ry sweet and pretty thing." 

In awful rage then cried the bee, 

"You mean, insulting little thing. 
Since you talk like that to me, 

I'll let you feel my 'nasty' sting." 
Then he made a dreadful buz-z-z. 

And struck the fly upon the head. 
The little fly, oh! where was he? 

Oh, he was very, very dead! 



22 



WAYSIDE CHEER 

"And do you know the Almighty?" 
Thus asked a man of toil, 

Of one, a passing stranger. 
Who stopped to chat a while. 

'Twas but a simple question. 

From one whose heart was kind. 

The nature of the answer. 
Revealed the stranger's mind. 

"I know the Lord and serve him. 
And know my sins forgiven." 

Then said the stranger, passing, 
"We'll meet again in heaven." 

Their paths had come together. 
Upon life's journey long. 

Again their ways were parted, 
Each heart made doubly strong. 

The cheer that casual meeting 
Gave to these men of prayer, 

Will gird them for the journey. 
That leads to mansions fair. 



23 



WERE I A MILLIONAIRE 

Were I a millionaire, 

My house a palace grand, 
With lawns and gardens rare, 

The finest in the land: 
My servants by the score, 

My every w^ish to please, 
Selected from the poor, 

Those found among the lees: 

My stocks and bonds and gold. 

Almost beyond compute, 
And acres broad untold. 

With forests, vines and fruit: 

Had I the choicest steeds. 

That my great v^ealth could buy, 
And cars with record speeds. 

And aeroplanes to fly; 
And fleets of ships to sail 

Upon the ocean blue, 
And trains upon the rail. 

To rush the country through: 

Had I my every greed. 

That wealth and pride demand, 
I still should have a need. 

That wealth can not command. 

I then should have a needy soul, 

Unsatisfied and yearning 
For a wealth the world cannot supply, 

But ever spurning. 
Becks the soul in ways of loss. 

Broad ways and charming. 
Leading downward from the Cross 

And the Crowning. 
24 



A TRIBUTE TO JOHN T. GOLD, 
My Dear, Departed Friend 

The afternoon you went away, 

Never to return again, 
You climbed to heights of endless day; — 

Not with feeble step and slow, 
But with tread of conscious vict'ry 
Over death and the grave. 

Still we would not have it so. 

Though our loss has been your gain. 

You left us here in grief and tears. 
Though you did not will it so. 

For your heart through all the years. 
Was ever tender true and kind. 

And all who knew you, knew to love 

And trust you always as a friend; 

They heard your words with willing mind, 
By them inspired where e'er they go. 

In heavenly mansions now you dwell, 
In the land of fadeless flowers. 

And gladly join with those who swell 
The hymns of praise to Christ our King. 

Some day we'll climb the heights of life. 

And stand with you in glory bathed. 

And join our songs with those who sing 
With joy among ambrosial bowers. 



25 



A DREAM OF HOME 

'Twas but a dream that he dreamed, 
And yet so very real it seemed, 
That he awoke with sudden start, 
To find a gladness in his heart. 

Almost akin to pain. 
He dreamed of home and loved ones there. 
The happy home of long ago: 
And all the world seemed bright and fair. 

For he was young again. 

He seemed to see his mother's face, 
And hear her speak with wonted grace, 
The words that always made him glad. 
When as a child his heart was sad, — 

"I love my little boy!" 
He felt again the tender kiss. 
Just where the bruise had hurt him so! 
And knew once more the healing bliss. 

The bliss without alloy. 

Many and long had been the years, 

Since he had kissed away the tears, 

From that dear face, and said, "Good-bye," 

The long and rough world-paths to try. 

In distant lands to roam. 
Though long and rough had been the ways. 
And fierce the conflicts of the soul, 
He ne'er forgot those happy days, 

Nor lost the light of home. 



26 



THE LOST TITANIC 

Oh, the horror of it! 
Oh, the sorrow of it, — 
The wreck of the Titanic, 
While sailing the Atlantic. 

Men did not think it. 

They said, ''You cannot sink it,"- 

The wonderful Titanic, 

That sailed o'er the Atlantic. 

The iceberg could do it, 
And all men now rue it, — 
The loss of the Titanic, 
In the stern Atlantic. 

How sad when we learned it. 
That the sea had spurned it, — 
The beautiful Titanic, 
Now whelmed in the Atlantic. 

Now that all men know it. 
May future genius show it, — 
By building a Titanic, 
That can outride th' Atlantic. 



27 



THE OLD MAN'S ADDRESS TO TIME 

Time, to me what hast thou done! 
The sands of life are almost run. 

My youthful days, ah, they are gone; 

1 feel that I am moving on. 

The friends of youth, oh where are they? 
The joys I had, — they did not stay: 
The hopes that once I called my own — 
They too have fled : I walk alone. 

See, thou hast thinned my raven hair, 
And left the snows of winter there; 
The eyes that once were keen and bright, 
Are growing dim; — 'tis almost night. 

The arm that once was strong and free. 
Too soon it must succumb to thee : 
The heart that once beat strong and high. 
Beats feebler now; it soon must die. 

Good-bye, Old Time, give me your hand. 
For I'm moving on to the silent land: 
My feet are dipped in the river cold. 
And of life I soon must lose my hold. 

My journeyings here will soon be o'er, 
When I shall cross to the golden shore, 
Where thou, O Time, can never come 
And rob me of eternal home. 



28 



WILLIAM BOOTH 

The Lord has a way of His own. 
When He would have work done, 
From out Hi?^ royal Throne — 
He reigneth over all — 
He issues forth His call 
For a giant leader tall 
In heart and soul and mind, 
The rarest, choicest kind. 

When He the race would save 
And purer people have, 
He called a Noah brave. 
Faithful, pure and good, 
A preacher of the Word 
Of life, — of noble mood, 
And of most kingly grace, 
The Forebear of the race. 

At last there came the day 
That He prepared the way, 
When He to man could say, 
'*My only Son I give 
To die that you may live, 
If you will but believe." 
And so He called a race 
In Abraham apace. 

And thus it's ever been — 
When man so marred by sin, 
And black his heart within. 
The Lord would purify 
And fit him for the sky, 
He's never failed to try 
To find a leader strong 
To overthrow the wrong. 
29 



All leaders He prepares 

To meet the needs, nor spares 

Expenses for repairs 

Of breaches sin has wrought. 

And thus He's ever sought 

For mighty men well taught 

In arts of war 'gainst wrong, 

With dauntless hearts and strong. 

In looking o'er the fields 
Where sin its fruitage yields 
Of death. He heard appeals 
From those, the ''down and out," 
And saw no leader stout 
Of heart and mind, to rout 
The hosts of sin with Truth, 
Excepting William Booth. 

Hearing the call of God, 
He quick unsheathed the sword 
Of Truth, the mighty Word, 
Declaring near and far 
His purpose to make war 
Against the foes that mar 
The life and damn the soul, 
Thus robbing hell its toll. 

A dauntless leader he 
Of hosts that were set free 
And knew sweet liberty 
From Satan's power. His task 
Well done, with those who bask 
In light, and where no mask 
Of sin is worn, he stands 
Star-crowned by many hands. 
30 



THE OLD RED MILL 

By the side of the grey gravel pike it stood, 

The old red mill of the neighborhood, 

Where for many a year golden grain had been 

ground 
By the great mill stones turning swiftly around 
By the power from the forty-foot wheel in its room. 
Made to turn by the water that flowed from the 

flume. 

In those far-away days 'twas a pleasure profound, 
For us children to visit the mill where was ground 
The flour from the wheat that was brought by the 

load, 
To the old red mill that stood by the road. 
And to watch the great water wheel turning round. 
And driving the machinery with its loud rumbling 

sound. 

Among the bright boys that loved the old mill, 
Were Henry and Ed. and Charlie and Bill, 
And a great many more I'll not stop to name. 
Who were glad, indeed, when the milling day came. 
It also received many calls from the girls. 
Among whom were Hattie, and Laura with curls. 

But many long years have gone by since then — 
The girls became women, the boys became men ; 
The grave has claimed some and the great world the 

rest, — 
The North and the South, the East and the West. 
We shall never meet again at the old red mill 
That stood by the road at the foot of the hil' 

31 



A PILGRIMAGE 

From the hill-top where I stand, 
Looking backward down the years, 

I see a pilgrim, staff in hand. 
At the moment he appears 

On a hill-top far away 

Entering on life's billowing way. 

I look again and lo! I see, 

In childhood's vale he tarries long 

'Mid scenes of joy, with heart care-free, 
And hear him singing hope's sweet song. 

And then I see him as he mounts 
With sturdy step the hill of Youth, 

Resting at last by those pure founts 

Where earnest souls drink deep of Truth. 

Sometimes in vales where shadows fall. 

And where the glooms of life assail, — 
And then on heights high over all. 

Where beams of heavenly light prevail — 
I see him on the rugged road 

Of Manhood, where he finds at last 
Life's burdens are a heavy load. 

And youthful vigor largely past. 

Thus far upon life's way I've come; 

Though rough the road at times and slow. 
It matters not, — I'm going home. 

Undaunted still I onward go 
Towards a hill-top up the way, 
Where glows the light of endless day. 

32 



REST AND HOME 

Though dead the hopes of other days, — 
Though crushed the heart, and very sore, 

My soul undaunted walks the ways 
Of life, rejoicing evermore 

In Christ my Savior, glorious King, 

Whose praises saints and angels sing. 

Though sore my feet and rough the way, 
And hard the hill of life to climb, 

I'll reach at last the heights of day, 
And sweetly rest in that fair clime. 

Where bloom for aye the fadeless flowers 

That grow among perennial bowers. 

I then shall see my Savior's face. 

And join the heavenly choirs that sing 
With gladsome joy His wondrous grace. 

While all the bells of heaven ring! 
While on the way to that blest home, 
I'm glad in Him who bids me come. 



33 



THE COMPLAINING WIND 

Out of the North with sigh and moan, 

The wind complained to the restless waves, 

And the waves complained to the rocks along the 

shore ; 
But the rocks were undisturbed forevermore. 

The wind complained to the falling leaves, 
And the leaves complained to the lofty trees; 
But the trees were undisturbed where they had 

grown, 
And paid little heed to the north wind's sigh and 

moan. 

The wind complained to the passing clouds, 
And the clouds complained to the gentle moon ; 
But the gentle moon from her silver throne on high, 
Shone on, still flooding with light both earth and 
sky. 

The wind is flown. 
The waves are gone. 
The leaves are dead, 
The clouds are fled: 
But the rocks endure. 
The trees still tower 
And the moon shines on. 



3% 



THE PLAINT OF AN OLD HAT 

On a wayside post there hung forlorn, 
An old black hat all faded and torn. 
Dreaming of days long past there it hung — 
Of the days when it was attractive and young. 
In pity for the poor old hat so lone, 
I asked in my kindest and tenderest tone, 

'Why hang you here in this sorrowful plight, 
Through the heat of the day and the chill of the 

night, 
Whipped by the wind and soothed by the calm, 
With no one to care or speak words of balm ? 
Have the years been many since you were new; 
Have the friends been many or have they been few ? 
Did you good service in days long ago, 
That those whom you served should treat you so? 
Does no one care what becomes of you. 
Have they forgotten your service true?" 

Then answered the poor old hat with a sigh. 
As in feeble tones it made this reply, — 
'' 'Tis many a day since I was new, 
And my true friends have been but few. 
To render good service I did my best, 
And in every fair trial I stood the test. 
But at last there came a very sad day, 
When I found that I was a cast-away, 
For there had come to take my place, 
A fine new hat of charming grace. 



35 



I thought of myself as being of use, 

And was not prepared for any abuse: 

I knew I had done the best that I could, 

And considered myself as still very good. 

But I very soon found that I was nought 

To the one I had served, as I had thought. 

So at last aside I was cruelly tossed. 

And find myself hanging here on this post. 

To be laughed at and jeered by those who go by," 

Said the poor old hat with a mournful sigh. 

The lesson I learned from the hat that day, 
I carefully pondered as I drove on my way, — 
When one is gay, attractive and young, 
His praises will very often be sung 
By those whom he serves as well as he can — 
Whether a hat or a horse or a man — 
To be set aside when he has grown old, 
Though the service he rendered was better than 
gold. 



36 



CRUEL KING WINTER 

The days are long and cold and dreary, 
And the wind is never weary, 
For Winter is king 
In the land. 
He seeks admission at the rich man's door. 
But ruthlessly enters the home of the poor. 
And laughs, "Ha, ha! 
I reign!" 

For the rich man's comfort, little cares he, 
But snaps his fingers in merriest glee, 
In the face of the rich 
And the grand. 
He cruelly pinches the shivering poor. 
And drives all comfort out of the door. 
And laughs, "Ha, ha! 
I reign!" 

He robs little children of clothing and bread. 
And laughs at the sick, the dying and dead, 
For he is king 
In the land. 
The pleadings of poverty have no appeal, 
For his heart is as hard as the hardest of steel, 
And he laughs, "Ha, ha! 
I reign!" 

He stalks down the street with a mighty stride, 
And tosses his head with a haughty pride. 
Since he is king 
In the land. 
Sweet Charity's offerings he laughs to scorn. 
Since he has no care for the lone and forlorn. 
But laughs, "Ha, ha! 
I reign." 

37 



The days are long and cold and dreary, 
And the wind is never weary, 
For Winter is king 

In the land, — 
And he laughs, "Ha, ha!" 
And reigns! 



38 



THE BOOK DIVINE 

Book divine, all books excelling, 

Word of God from heaven come down; 
Messages of love foretelling 

How the meek may win the crown. 
Book that tells of Christ's compassion — 

Of His love's unbounded part 
In the work of man's salvation, 

And the cleansing of the heart. 

'Tis the message of the Spirit, 

Comforting the troubled breast. 
Giving all who will inherit 

Life eternal, blessed rest. 
Lights the way that leads from sinning. 

In a world where evils be: 
Tells of faith and its beginning, 

Setting hearts at liberty. 

Word of truth that can deliver 

All who will the truth receive : 
Blessed Book that fails us never — 

To sin's power will never leave 
Those who crave the Savior's blessing, 

And will serve as hosts above — 
Hosts that praise Him without ceasing, 

God of mercy and of love. 

It reveals the new creation 

Possible in Christ to be; 
Making glad through His salvation. 

All who hunger to be free. 
Thus it points us to the glory — 

("Till in heaven we take our place,") 
Of the Christ of sacred story. 

Whom we love, adore and praise. 
39 



THE TITANIC TRAGEDY 

Rest in peace, thou great Titanic, 

Wondrous mistress of the deep, 
Embosomed in the stern Atlantic, 

Slumber on in dreamless sleep. 
Released art thou from all thy sailing. 

And from the cruel ice and wave, — 
Thou heedest not the voice of wailing, 

Nor the tears above thy grave. 

In the day of thy great power, 

And of glory unexcelled. 
Awaited multitudes the hour 

Of thy sailing — ought impelled, 
Because of voices from afar 

Sounding o'er the mighty main — 
With no thought of aught to mar 

The trip or give to loved ones pain. 

Speeding on from day to day, 

O'er the vasty ocean blue, 
The rich and poor, the grave the gay 

Rejoiced in heart, because all knew 
No monster of the deep could harm 

Or hinder thee, the port from making. 
The days and nights gave magic charm 

To sea and sky, — all souls partaking. 

But when the monster iceberg gored thee, 

And thy graceful side was riven, 
Then every heart that had adored thee, 

Into despair and dread was driven, 
For all then knew that their confiding 

In thy power was vain to save. 
Because of failure in providing 

To cheat the maw of an ocean grave. 
40 



MAPLE-SUGAR TIME 

Let's go among the maple trees 

That In the wood-lot stately grow, — 
The nights just cold enough to freeze 

And wet the ground with slushy snow. 
'TIs sugar time! 'tis sugar time! 

A time of joy, O heart of mine, 
The sap so sweet, begins to flow, 

From which we'll make the sugar fine. 

We'll tap the trees, the maple trees, 

From whence the sap so sweet must flow, 
While nights are cold enough to freeze 

And earth is wet with slushy snow. 
We'll bore the hole and drive the spout 

From sumac made, the pith burned out 
To give the sap a chance to flow 

Into the Basswood trough, hewed out. 

We then will go among the trees. 

And gather sap that's running slow, — 
It's hardly cold enough to freeze, 

And gently falls the fleecy snow. 
We'll fill the caldron on the sweep, 

And build beneath a fire of wood, 
And there a constant vigil keep 

A-boiling sap, till syrup's good. 

And then beneath the lofty trees. 

Around the caldron boiling slow, — 
The weather cold enough to freeze. 

And buried everything In snow — 
We'll sugar off and eat our fill 

Of wax so sweet, made on the snow. 
And eat, and eat, and eat until 

We're almost sick with sweetened woe ! 

41 



THE GLORY OF AGE 

To grow old is not a calamity, but rather an 
auspicious event in the journey from the cradle to 
the grave, unless it be found in the w^ay of evil. 
**The hoary head is a crown of glory, if it be 
found in the way of righteousness." 

All crowns are not worn by those sitting on 
thrones of worldly power and broad domain. The 
rarest gems set in king's crowns, are not to be 
compared with those that shine forth in the char- 
acter of one who has grown old in the service of 
God and man. Brotherhood strengthened and 
Fatherhood revealed in the course of a well spent 
life, mean more for the weal of the world than 
do crowns of gold diamond studded. These are 
symbols only, the character being the real gem that 
shall never lose its luster or value. 

This kind of a character is the resultant of walk- 
ing with God through the years. To walk with 
Him in His **Out of Doors," — to look upon His 
flowers and breathe their perfume; to go with Him 
among sylvan bowers by lakes and streams; to 
stand with Him on mountain heights and "view the 
landscape o'er;" to enter into forests primeval and 
commune with Him in these first temples of prayer 
and holy fellowship; to look upon His sunrises and 
His sunsets and take note of the skill of those won- 
derful aerial artists of the morning and the even- 
ing; to behold the glories of the midnight and the 
splendors of the day; to hear the entrancing music 
of Nature's Symphony, — song of bird, sigh of 
breeze, murmur of brooklet, dash of waterfall, roar 
of ocean, tread of storm, — and hear in all these 
God talking to the soul, — and then, better still, to 

42 



enter into the secret place of the Most High, the 
Holy of Holies, and hear Him say, "Be thou 
faithful unto death, and I will give thee a crown of 
life," this is life triumphant. 

To grow old while in intimate fellowship with 
Him who is eternally young, is to become like Him 
who never grows old. To grow old with Him 
is to unfold into eternal youth. After all, there 
is no old age for the soul that walks alone with 
God. Thus 'tis glory all the way — foregleams 
here, fruition there. 



43 



A CONVERSATION QUEER 

As I stood on the depot platform, 

Awaiting the coming train, 
I saw a well-worn mail-sack. 

Lying there in the misty rain; 
And list'ning attentively, 

I heard, or seemed to hear, 
From the depths of that old mail-sack, 

A conversation queer. 

Up spoke a big, fat letter, 

Adorned with wax so red. 
Thinking itself to be finer. 

Than any of the others, it said, 
With an air of much importance, 

"Whom do you suppose I am? 
I'm going to Washington City, 

To call upon Uncle Sam." 

This boast made a great impression, 

On the rest of the mail-sack folk: 
But finally a modest letter, 

Mustered up courage and spoke, — 
*Tm little and plain and poor, 

But have wealth far better than gold ; 
'Tis a message of love from a son 

To his mother so lonely and old." 



44 



Then one perfumed and tinted, 

In accents low and sweet, 
With becoming coyness whispered, 

"I'm on my journey to greet 
A lover so fond and true, 

From one who has plighted her life. 
And patiently waits the glad day 

When she shall become his good wife." 

Then all were suddenly startled, 

By one who declared with bruskness, 
That he had no time for wooing; 

But with him 'twas business, business ! 
But the rest of the conversation 

Was lost in the roar of the train, 
And I saw no more of the mail-sack, 

Lying there in the gentle rain. 



45 



A WASTED LIFE 

An Allegory 

'Tis a beautiful landscape, diversified by shady 
groves, dark underwood, mossy glens, and singing 
rivulets. The trees and the earth are clothed 
with the freshness and beauty of spring. Flowers 
bloom and birds sing among the branches. Not a 
cloud is in the sky. 

A youth stands on the margin of a stream, and 
scatters flowers upon the waters. He watches them 
float silently aw^ay and imagines them to be an em- 
blem of his life. He listens to the rustling of the 
leaves as they are moved by the gentle breeze. He 
reclines on a mossy couch at the foot of a tree 
and is lulled by the songs of the birds. He sleeps. 

Not the shadow of a care is on that fair young 
brow. His dreams are the dreams of childhood. 
Occasionally a peaceful smile lights up his counte- 
nance and then quietly vanishes away. Time passes 
rapidly; but he slumbers on unconscious of the 
changes that are taking place around him. 

The flowers are withered; the trees have put off 
their livery of green ; the fields are brown and bare ; 
the birds have flown. Leaden clouds hang in the 
sky, and the sun is obscured. Winter approaches. 

Not only has nature changed, but the dreamer 
also. The fair bloom of youth is faded ; his eyes 
are sunken ; his whole appearance indicates that the 
vigor of life is gone. He awakes. He gazes 
on the scene. Oh! what a look of despair is pic- 
tured on his brow as he contemplates the change. 

He calls wildly for the companions of his youth; 



but they are far away and do not hear his cry. No 
home, no friends; no one to whom he may appeal 
for aid and comfort. He sinks to the ground in ut- 
ter despair, and laments his folly. Time gone; Op- 
portunity gone; Strength gone; Life a sad failure. 
The grave soon opens and he lies down and is for- 
gotten. How many a life is wasted in dream- 
ing! 

The springtime of life is a pleasant season: it 
has its flowers and its verdure, and all are enchanted 
with its beauty. 

Many seem, however, never to arouse from the 
spell of its enchantment; they spend their lives as 
though they were given simply to be wasted in one 
round oi pleasure and frivolity; and ere they are 
aware the summer is gone, the autumn far spent, and 
winter coming on. 

The flowers that would have produced abundant 
fruit withered while yet they bloomed. No har- 
vest for the sluggard! 



47 



WHAT SHALL IT BE? 

What shall it be? 
*'Oh," cries the school boy, while his face lights up 
with a hopeful radiance, "Mine shall be a happy 
life when I am grown. I long for the time when 
I can put away my school books and go out into 
the world and be called a man." With this thought 
uppermost in his mind, he toils cheerfully on, his 
ardent soul ever looking forward to the time 
when he shall realize his ambition. 

What shall it be? 
"Mine shall be a successful life," says the young 
man, standing upon the threshold of activity, and 
looking out upon the busy world. "I see a chance to 
gain wealth and honor. I shall not stop until I 
have won for myself an enviable name and position 
among the great men of the world." Cheered by 
this thought, he steps forth to the conquest, little 
dreaming of the disappointments that await him. 

What shall it be? 
Then comes the middle aged man. Care has left 
a few lines upon his cheek and a few silvery hairs 
are scattered among the raven locks, but he has an 
earnest, expectant look as he makes reply. "Al- 
though I have met with some disappointments, and 
have not accomplished what I expected to, I will 
not despair. I will spend the remaining years 
of my life of vigor in such a manner that when I 
am old I may live in luxury and ease, being recog- 
nized as one of the successful men of my time. 
Mine shall be a happy life free from toil and care 
when the years of weakness come." 



48 



What shall it be? 
"Mine shall be a crown," said a voice feeble with 
age. "I have walked the earth for many years, and 
am tired of the way. Many have been the illusions 
and disappointments. A bright eyed boy full of 
hope, I set out on life's journey. The future seemed 
so bright to me that I could hardly wait for the 
years of manhood to come. They came at last with 
their responsibilities, but they did not bring the 
success that I had so fondly hoped would be mine. 
I am more anxious to enter upon the life to come, 
than when a boy I was to become a man." As he 
speaks his countenance glows and his dim eyes 
brighten, for he knows that he shall soon pass to 
that country where the question will never be asked, 
"Wh^t shall it be?" 



49 



FALL ON THE FARM 

I listen to the rustle 
Of fully ripened corn, — 

The summertime is over, 

The growing days are gone. 

The drooping ears are burdened. 

Their wealth of golden grain, 
Announces to the toiler, 

"You've labored not in vain." 

Full soon the frost will settle 
On all the browning fields. 

And harvesters will gather 
The corn Abundance yields. 

Bins full to point of bursting. 
Will give the farmer cheer. 

He's corn enough to last him 
Throughout another year. 

Of wheat and oats and barley. 

There is enough for all ; 
Enough of fruits and veg'tablcs, 

Until another fall. 

The lowing herds at evening. 
Come on their homeward way, 

From pastures broad and fertile 
To barns well filled with hay. 



50 



There is so much of comfort 

For all upon the farm, 
That Want makes a detour, 

Thus giving no alarm. 

The wolves of Cold and Hunger 
Go on their dreary way. 

Within this prosperous farmstead, 
They have no place to stay. 

The winter winds may whistle, 
And all their trumpets blow! 

We still shall be in comfort. 
Though buried earth with snow. 



51 



THE TOILING HAND 

Behold and despise not 
The honest, toiling hand, 
As instrument of skill and power, 
The mightiest in all the land ; — 
A thought of God in flesh enshrined, 
Possessed with power almost divine, 
To aid and comfort human kind, — 
The honest, calloused hand. 

Behold and reject not. 
This providential hand, 
A tool of cunning workmanship. 
Formed on earth, in heaven planned; 
More wonderful than human skill 
Or angel genius could conceive, 
To execute God's holy will, — 
The helpful, toiling hand. 

Behold and condemn not. 
The soiled and calloused hand. 
Because of lack of power to wield 
The sculptor's maul, or artist's wand, 
Or touch with skill the silent keys, 
And wake to life sweet melodies. 
The wond'ring multitudes to please, — 
The awkward, horny hand. 



52 



Behold and disdain not, 
The skilled and cunning hand, 
With power to drive the team afield, 
And gather fruits from fertile land. 
Or from deep mines rich treasures bring, 
Or shape with skill the glowing steel. 
While hammer strokes make anvils ring, — 
The skillful, useful hand. 

Behold and disdain not. 

This trained and trusty hand. 

That builds with steel or wood or stone 

The lowly cot or palace grand; 

Or drives with speed the thund'ring train. 

Or guides with ease majestic ships 

That proudly sail the boundless main, — 

This strong and mighty hand. 



THE NINETEENTH PSALM 
PARAPHRASED 

Part First 

"The heavens declare the glory of God, 

And the firmament showeth His handiwork;" 

'Tis seen wherever man has trod 

The earth in reverent mood 

On sea or land, 

In forests grand. 

In valleys low, 

On mountains high, 

When he beholds the vaulted sky. 

"Day unto day uttereth speech. 

And night unto night showeth knowledge ;" 

The voice is heard by those who'd reach 

Earth's highest plane of life, — 

With listening ear. 

That they may hear 

And know of God 

As He is seen 

By those who go where God hath been. 

"There is no speech nor language, 

Where their voice is not heard." 

In all the lands in every age. 

Where souls are held in thrall 

By sin's strong chain, 

Men strive in vain 

To free themselves 

From Satan's harm, 

Until God's voice dispels the charm. 

54 



"Their line has gone out through all the earth, 

And their words to the end of the world." 

Earth's farthest bounds reveals no dearth 

Of power or skill to care 

For all who strive 

To know and thrive 

Upon the truths 

Of God that hold 

In trust for all, soul-wealth untold. 

"In them hath he set a tabernacle for the sun, 
Which is as a bridegroom coming out of his cham- 
ber, 
Rejoicing as a strong man a race to run." 
From morn till close of day, 
He never tarries 
Nor ever wearies. 
The way is long 
And fast the pace. 
Since he must visit all the race. 

"His going forth is from the end of the heaven, 

And his circuit to the ends of it, 

And there is nothing hid from the heat thereof." 

On midnight skies God's name is graven. 

In worlds and burning suns 

That ever shine 

By power divine. 

Bedecking earth 

With beauties rare, 

Proclaiming, "God is everywhere." 



55 



Part Second 

*'The law of the Lord is perfect, converting the 

soul, 
The testimony of the Lord is sure, making wise the 

simple." 
And all who gain salvation's goal, 
And know the Lord to serve. 
His name to praise, 
In wisdom's ways 
Go forth with power 
To win the prize 
Of endless life beyond the skies. 

"The statutes of the Lord are right, rejoicing the 
heart ; 

The commandment of the Lord is pure, enlighten- 
ing the eyes." 

God's children true will ne'er depart 

From paths of joy and light. 

They walk in peace 

With God, nor cease 

To tell the lost 

The way to find 

The sweetest comfort of the mind. 

"The fear of the Lord is clean, enduring forever; 
The judgments of the Lord are true, and righteous 

altogether." 
To sin becometh God's children never: 
The fear of the Lord is their wisdom. 
By this they show 
To all below 
The shining stars. 
That God is just. 
Forgiving all who in Him trust. 

56 



"More to be desired are they than gold, yea, than 

much fine gold. 
Sweeter also than honey and the honey comb." 
God's judgments make the spirit bold, 
And give the surest joy 
That men can know 
While here below 
They journey on 
The upward way 
That brings them to celestial day. 

''Moreover by them is thy servant warned: 

And in keeping of them there is great reward." 

God's faithful servant is not suborned 

Nor cajoled by satan's wiles. 

He ever yearns 

To know, nor spurns 

The meanest task 

That he is given, 

Assured that his reward is heaven. 

Part Third 

"Who can understand his errors? 

Cleanse thou me from secret faults." 

For the pure in heart there are no terrors, 

Nor dread of judgment day. 

In light they dwell. 

And gladly swell 

The hymns that laud 

The Prince of Peace 

Whose gracious reign shall never cease. 



57 



"Keep back thy servant also from the sins of pre- 
sumption ; 

Let them not have dominion over me; 

Then shall I be upright, and innocent from the 
great transgression." 

Ill have the rest of soul 

And peace of mind 

That sinners find 

When first they know 

The Lord to love 

And serve on earth, as in heaven above. 

"Let the words of my mouth, and the meditation 

of my heart, 
Be acceptable in thy sight, O Lord, my strength 

and my redeemer." 
Thus minded, I'll have a glorious part 
In thy eternal kingdom, 
For there no sin 
Can enter in 
To hun or mar 
The peace and joy 
Of life whose pleasures never cloy. 



S8 



THE CHILDREN 

The rarest gems to be found within the household, 
The choicest boon of Heaven to Parenthood, — 
The children! 
They come with their gifts far richer than purest 

gold, 
Bringing the innocent charm of Childhood, — 
The children! 

Their pureness reveals the face their angels behold, 
The face of their Father, the charm of Saint- 
hood, — 

The children! 
They inspire the heart with courage sublime and 
bold ^ , 

To meet all the tests of the noblest Manhood, — 
The children! 

They bring the glad cheer that enables the life to 
unfold 
And develop the spirit of the truest of Brother- 
hood, — 

The children! 
They bind hearts together in love that might have 
grown cold. 
Had their coming not graced the home and 
Motherhood, — 
The children! 



59 



THE OPULENT HOURS 

There came to me in the early morning, 
The blissful hour of a glorious dawning 

Of a day new-born. 
I knew she came from the realms of glory, 
Bringing to me a wonderful story, 

Of a world of opaline splendor. 
Her robes outrivaled the robes of royalty, 
And her beauty surpassed the beauty of Percephone. 

And then, behold, there came to me trooping, 
A bevy of hours, about me grouping, — 

A day well born. 
They brought unto me opportunities golden, 
And time sufficient, my soul to embolden, 

That good service to God I might render. 
As I labored for others that needed assistance 
In their fight against evil, and made their resistance. 

Though demanding of me stern service, I loved 

them; 
'Twas not in my heart, or I might have reproved 

them, — 
The day well grown. 
They all wore their jewels so rare and so beauteous; 
Each moment had a charm for the true and the 

duteous 
Who felt 'twas a sin one to squander, 
Since they were the gift of the Father all-glorious. 
And love is His banner that floats ever over u.«- 



60 



The labors of the day at last being ended, 

I sit where the light and the darkness are blended, — 

The day full grown. 
I note that the beauties of the hours of the even 
Have a splendor, not of earth, but akin to that of 
heaven, 

And the soul of the man is made tender, 
As he worships the Giver of the hours, in the gloam- 
ing, 
Rejoicing in the thought that soon he'll be homing. 



61 



THE DERELICT 

One bright and beautiful day in summer time, 
There cleared from out the harbor calm and fair, 
A ship well built, supplied and manned to voyage 
Over the sea to a port far-famed and grand. 
The pilot was at the wheel, — and well he knew 
Where dangerous rocks and shoals in hiding were. 
And where the deepest waters were through which 
To make the open sea beyond the bar. 
The sea was calm. The balm-steeped summer 

breeze 
Was wafted o'er the waters still, inviting. 
The faithful Captain who took command well 

knew 
The dangers of the deep, and the perils 
Attending those who voyaging go afar. 
Supplied the ship with sextant, chart and compass, — 
Equipped in every way was she to sail 
The vasty ocean, storm-tossed or becalmed. 
Direct into the sea her prow was held 
By the hand of One who fully knew the way. 
But soon the owner, conceited, reckless, vain. 
Discharged the Captain and took control himself. 
Declaring that he could make his way alone. 
He heeded not the warning of the Captain, 
Neither the voice of sextant, chart or compass. 
He took the wheel, willing to risk his chances 
In making the far-famed port for which he cleared. 
In passing near the isles of Bliss, he caught 
The perfume sweet from out the bowers of Balm, 
And heard entrancing melodies that woo 
To rest the weary, passing voyager. 
Who strength would have to safely make the port. 
No charm had these for him, so on he sailed. 

62 



For steering there was but little need. Serene 
The sea. No clouds obscured the azure sky, 
And all was merriment and glee. But soon 
The sky was overcast with haze; the sun 
Was veiled and dimly shone upon the scene : 
And then the ever-thick'ning clouds obscured 
Entire the light of sun and blue of sky, 
And storm portents filled all the sultry air. 
From out the distant glower the sullen voice 
Of the storm-fiend was heard, filling with dread 
The heart of him who sailed. The hand that 

steered 
Was weak and inefficient. Of sea-faring 
No ken had he, or sense of perils dire. 

When 'customed to the storm, and gone his dread, 

He fully gave himself into the hand 

Of the fiend whose grip was strong to drive the 

ship 
From out her course; and, drifting aimlessly. 
All sense of way was lost. The voyagers 
& Making their way to the port far-famed and grand, 

" Seeing his peril, shouted, "Ahoy! Beware!" 

No heed gave he to the warning voice of friends. 
Nor conned the faithful sextant, chart or compass. 
But onward rushed in a wild delirium 
With all the relish of one who gathers gems 
Or pearls of greatest worth and beauty rare. 



63 



At last there came a day when voyagers 
Upon their course to the grand and famous port, 
Beheld adrift a broken derelict, 
Abandoned, battered, bruised and desolate. 
The feeble hand had dropped from off the wheel. 
The ruined one had no desire to make 
The port for which he cleared so long ago, 
When he set sail from out the haven of Home, 
The hand of Love parental on the wheel 
To guide into the sea beyond the bar. 
The loss was great, indeed, the sorrow deep, 
Because the one who might have safely sailed 
The ocean wide and made the far-famed port. 
Had failed, since he would give no heed to Him 
Who fully knew the perils of the way. 
And how to save from death the erring soul. 



64 



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CONGRESS 

















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